Hey… it's been a whi – ARGH! (gets pounded into dust by reviewers) er… eheh, I know I haven't updated in (checks when last updated) holy crap… Oh forget it. I'M SORRY! HERE IS YOUR CHAPTER! Oh and let me know if the standard of writing is dropping. Inspiration is running a little thin I'm afraid. BUT I WILL FINISH IT. PROMISE.

Insane Troll Logic: I READ YOUR STORY AND IT RULES. This chapter is longer and (evil grin) it's eeeeeeeeeeevil. I think… and don't worry about Oz. Everything will be juuuuuuust fine… (evil cackle)

Claire: Here you go. Enjoy and I'm glad you like the humour.

empath89: AHH! Oh I'm sorry! I've been concentrating on getting it right all this time! GAAAH! Argh, that's what happens when I try to update at three o'clock in the morning (EAE: Like you're doing now --;) won't do it again and really sorry for the wait. I'm terrible (sniffs, ashamed).

Jewel21: You're gonna kill me for not updating for ages aren't you? Well, I'll just pray this chapter will restraint your anger for long enough for me to leg it… ah never mind. Yeah, the Cordelia bit was just a random moment on my part, but I really couldn't resist. Enjoy! And don't worry about Oz, EAE wants to kill him but… well I dunno…

Pwrhungryjr: Interesting name. You really mean it? I don't think I'm that great… I've just got a weird sense of humour. Oh well, thank you anyway, I feel all happy and fuzzy! (EAE: You did NOT just say that…)

MysticWolf1: Not a big fan? Then, if you don't mind me asking, how did you find this story? I would have thought people wouldn't read it unless they were big Doyle fans… oh well, it's nice to know my writing's not a complete loss. Thanks very much for reading, I love it when I can pull people into a story and keep them interested. Here's another chapter and please keep reading!

Claire: You stayed around this long. Well then, what can I say… here's your chapter and you are amazing THANK YOU!

Honestly, where would I be without you guys? That was a rhetorical question! (EAE: whistles innocently)

Well… sorry for the wait and here ya go.

Doyle awoke to the sound of… well he didn't really know. He knew he was awake and he knew that whatever that sound was it was giving him one hell of a blasted headache. Or… wait… no the bruises had given him the headache… but that damn noise wasn't really helping much. He had half a mind to yell at whatever it was to shut up, but when he tried speaking, he found that, for some strange reason, his vocal cords had been replaced with so much dry sandpaper. All that came out was a rasping croak.

Oh not this again.

He concentrated on the noise that was irritating him so much. It was a low sort of rumbling. Further investigation led to the discovery that it was in fact chanting. Many voices were chanting together, deep, dark words that were impossible to define and translate. What a way to put someone at ease.

Suddenly a vile smell assailed his nostrils, stabbing painfully up into his brain, kicking his senses into action. His head jerked automatically away, eyes shooting open and everything was thrown into a rather unpleasant clarity. The Nutcase, as Doyle had dubbed Zariel (his reasoning had gone something along the lines of: "well it contains the same number of syllables and it suits him better anyway") was standing right in front of him, holding something under his nose. Apparently that was what had woken him. He glared. Zariel laughed. Doyle couldn't really blame him, after all, his face probably resembled something close to a badly beaten up avocado.

"Nice to see you awake."

"Then why the hell do you keep knocking me out?"

Zariel smiled indulgently, his blank eyes crinkling at the ages and making him look even more like a chipped old chalk statue. Except, Doyle thought gloomily, any chalk statues he had encountered over the years, if any, he was sure would be much more considerate towards other people's state of health.

"Look around you seer, this will be the last sight you will ever see."

"Whoop-dee-doo," muttered Doyle sarcastically. A slight itch had started in his back, causing him to squirm slightly, uncomfortable. Typical, he was allergic to that damn ritualistic paint they had put all over him. He was probably developing a nasty rash. A part of his mind was screaming that he was about to die. The rest of it was staring blankly at the first bit with a "tell me something I don't know" expression. Zariel smirked at him before turning with a swish of dark material, giving Doyle a clear view of his surroundings. A wide stone chamber was spread out before him, the walls hidden back in shadow. He appeared to be chained to a wooden stake in the centre of a raised marble dias, the torch light casting strange flickering shapes over the dark stone.

Weird symbols, demonic naturally, were carved all across the flat circular plateau of the dias. He closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth against the pain in his head. That damn chanting still hadn't stopped. He could only assume that Nutcase's followers were standing in the shadows around the room as he couldn't see them. Now he watched as Zariel stepped down to where a stone plinth stood, made of the same black marble as the dias. He then did a double take.

On the plinth, the black knife Zariel had stabbed him with at their first meeting (didn't THAT bring back fond memories), was standing unsupported, the very tip of the blade only just touching the dark stone, perfectly upright and balanced. In the meagre light, the two black objects melded together in shadow, looking almost like one whole. Doyle glared. Was everything in this damn room engaged in a constant and violent argument with reality? It wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't actually winning.

"Loyal ones of the long forgotten clan," Zariel spoke in a low hollow tone, the sound resonating throughout the chamber. At his words, the chanting died away instantly. He waited a moment before continuing. "Long we have waited for this glorious moment, the moment in which we may avenge the wrongs done to us, to finally put our restless ancestors at peace. Brothers! That moment has now come."

A low murmur that sounded like a prayer answered this proclamation. Doyle watched the proceedings while wondering at how "great leader's" speeches really hadn't changed over the years. Maybe, he mused, there was a database somewhere containing a selection of speeches for all different occasions. Just as there were for after dinner speeched and pleasantries, perhaps there was a whole "evil speeches for all occasions archive somewhere. Then one could simply reserve one and… Doyle groaned. He could feel a headache developing.

"The ending of the ritual has now come!"

Doyle tensed as Zariel turned to face him, his eyes melding to deep black. The old warlock raised his hands, forming a strange symbol in the air.

"Now…"

Doyle suddenly jerked in pain. The marks painted on his chest, back, arms and face were suddenly stinging, no, burning, sharp stabbing pains coursing through him. The chanting began again, louder, more vehement, the sounds reverberating all around him, leaking in through his ears, bouncing around inside his skull. He gasped in pain, trying to curl in on himself, the heavy restraints holding him back, the pain escalating horribly in time with that malignant chanting.

He felt something strange, something alien inside him, a force that seemed to be shoving his own will aside, curling itself around his consciousness, his limbs jerking erratically. It was almost as though something was growing inside him, tearing through him to get out. And bloody hell it hurt. He lurched forwards in his bonds, coughing violently, blood dripping from his mouth. He wanted to fall away into sweet oblivion, allow sleep to take him away from this place. But if he did… he had a strong suspicion that he might not find his way back.

Cordy… Never did tell her… Always putting things off until the last minute… bad habit… that…

He felt himself slipping, darkness clawing its way underneath his eyelids, tugging them down, his vision blurring…

"STOP IT!"

Doyle's head snapped up at the scream, his eyes wide. The chanting had ceased abruptly as all eyes turned towards the source of the scream. Standing, white faced, trembling, covered in grime from head to toe, stood none other than Cordelia Chase, glaring at Zariel as though he had just told her she had put on weight since he last saw her. Even though he had never seen her before so that was technically impossible. But I digress.

The cult leader blinked, nonplussed at the livid young woman.

"And… you are?"

Cordelia's expression turned, if possible, even more murderous. She advanced menacingly across the stone floor, her high heels clicking like the rap of bone on rock.

"Hold it," Zariel held up a hand, "you wouldn't want him to get hurt." He gestured over his shoulder at the limp form of none other than Doyle who was tied fast to some strange engraved stone pillary thing, in front of which stood a knife impossibly suspended in the air on its point. The whole thing screamed "ritual sacrifice" to Cordelia. Cordelia could scream louder. And scream she bloody would.

"Let him go!" Doyle was in a horrible state, she could tell even from so far away. Blood was dribbling down his cheek and leg, cuts running across his bare torso and arms. She felt a pang of fear stab through her heart and gritted her teeth. These people had hurt him… them... her…

"Bastards…" even Doyle blinked at the tone in the young actress' voice. Her fists were clenched tightly, her eyes narrowed into furious slits, her voice a low, menacing hiss. With the torchlight flickering around her, her eyes seemed to glitter eerily.

Doyle gulped.

Eep, Cordy's pissed! Somebody get me out of here!

Schink. Clatter.

Doyle was so surprised he didn't have time to register that his wrists were no longer chained, before he pitched forwards. He was about to make a familiar and unpleasant acquaintance with the ground when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, stopping his descent. Zariel spun around, eyes wide.

"You!"

Angel took a moment to flash the warlock a demonic smirk.

"Me."

Doyle peered blearily up at the vampire.

"I'm dreaming aren't I?"

"Want me to wake you up?"

"HELL no."

Angel smiled warmly down at his friend, sitting him down carefully so his back was resting against the stake he had been chained to.

"'Scuse me for a sec, I have a few things to take care of."

Doyle waved him off.

"Sure, sure, take your time. Make a mess. Oh, er, Angel?"

Doyle shot a pointed look past the vampire who whirled around in time to duck a humming disc of black magic. Zariel stood shaking with rage.

"Kill him! Kill the vampire!"

Drip. Drip.

Zariel blinked.

"What…"

Angel feigned innocence. "Oh, are you looking for your friends? I think I kinda accidentally disembowelled all of them while you were talking to Cordy. Butterfingers."

Angel ducked and ran as Zariel leapt up at him with a speed that belied his age, pale eyes flashing in pure, unadulterated fury.

"You DARE to interfere! Disgusting creature of shadow! Spawn of evil! Die!"

Angel backflipped nonchalantly over the stone plinth which still held the knife, standing on its tip.

"Well, I'm kinda dead already so –"

"Go to hell!"

"But I DID that already –"

Angel twisted hurriedly to avoid another crackling energy ball. His eyes narrowed fractionally. He had to get this guy as far away from his friends as possible.

Doyle watched Zariel and Angel exchanging blows with a dazed look on his face. His brain had shut down and was firmly telling him that this could not in any way be happening and he should stay well out of it.

"Doyle! Oh GOD!"

"Mmm?" Doyle squinted upwards to see a hazy brown haired blob hovering anxiously over him. The blob looked vaguely familiar.

"Cordy…?"

"Oh God Doyle, I don't think you're stupid or annoying or any of that stuff I said to you!"

The seer suddenly found his arms full of sobbing young actress which should actually have been fairly painful but his nerves seemed to have long since ceased trying to make contact with his brain and were considering this their metaphorical coffee break. A positive affect of this particular little condition was that Doyle was able to hug Cordy back. The flip side however was that he was not actually entirely conscious of just what the hell was going on. Ah well, you can't win 'em all.

Crouching to avoid an energy blast which shattered the wall behind him, Angel launched himself at the warlock, catching him off guard and landing a solid punch to the old man's ribs. While Zariel may have been a powerful adversary in a duel of warlocks he was no match for the vampire's superior speed and strength. He landed in a graceless heap at the base of the stone plinth and lay there, breathing harshly, glaring viciously at the dark haired vampire who matched the gaze with a steely eye.

"You should have known that your "great" plan would go up in smoke as soon as you pulled my friends into this." Zariel spat blood to one side, now smirking.

"Do you really think that this ritual will stop if you smack me around a bit? Foolish monster."

Angel's eyes narrowed. "Have it your way then." The vampire lunged at the old warlock, not just to injure this time. Zariel lashed out and Angel suddenly found himself caught in the same freezing spell that Prarl had used on him at Sacarven's hideout. He snarled, trying to break free but he was barely able to blink, let alone move a limb. Zariel snickered, picking himself up off the dusty floor.

"You can growl and bite all you want demon, you're not getting out of that. Now," the warlock turned back to where Doyle lay half conscious in Cordelia's arms, "let's get on with the main event shall we?" Cordy's eyes widened and she hastily leapt up, putting herself between the warlock and the helpless seer.

"Like I'm going to let you touch him!" she snapped although her knees were shaking with fear and fatigue, "Get lost!" The warlock gave her a pitying look before making a sweeping motion in midair. Cordy was thrown aside like a rag doll, landing hard on the stone floor where she lay in a tangled heap, unmoving."

"Cordy!" Angel swore, baring his fangs at the warlock, "Bastard!"

Zariel laughed smugly, "Children should show more respect to their elders and betters. Watch your tongue demon." The white haired man closed his eyes and being to chant again, black magic creating a swirling aura around him, the dark presence seeping back into the air. From where he lay, Doyle jerked, curling in on himself as the symbols on his body began to glow a vivid, sickly green. Angel growled, switching to his vampire façade, struggling with all his strength against the invisible force that held him. No use, the binds didn't shift an inch.

He couldn't do this, he couldn't just sit here and watch one of his best friends die. He closed his eyes and focused on the demon inside him, Angelus, the soulless version of himself. He felt that strength inside him and tugged at it, pushing it to the surface, willing every bit of demonic, magical and physical energy inside him to fight against the alien force holding him. He could feel the bonds creaking, giving away under his strength. He pushed harder, muscles trembling. Just a little more… he remembered Oz's unconscious figure, Cordy's tearstained face, Doyle's bloodied form slumped at the foot of that stone…With a hoarse cry he tore free, landing on his hands and knees, breathing hard.

Zariel sensed to the change and whirled around. "Wha – "

Angel took great pleasure in ramming his fist into the old man's face. "That was for wrecking my apartment," a knee to the ribs, "that was for leading us on this damn wild goose chase," an uppercut to the chin, "that was for hurting my friends," a roundhouse kick straight to the nose, "and that… well I guess that was just for pissing me off."

Zariel collapsed heavily, coughing and clutching his ribs. Angel massaged his knuckles, advancing on the beaten warlock.

"Reverse the spell."

"No."

"Trust me, you really don't want to argue with me right now. I might just have to kill you."

"Go to hell."

"I already told you I – "

Angel's exasperated comment was cut off by a scream of pain from the dias. He whirled around to see Doyle shaking and writhing, the dark mist gathering and intensifying around him. Angel gritted his teeth and grabbed the warlock by the front of his robes, hoisting him into the air.

"What the hell's happening to him? What did you do!"

Zariel smiled unpleasantly at him, the gaunt features twisting mockingly, "that is the energy called up from the deepest depths of hell. Well… some of it anyway." Angel shivered. He could feel the gathering black presence electrifying the air, making his hair stand on end and his eyes tingle. Zariel coughed harshly and continued, "that power will force its way inside his mind and find the link that the Powers used to send his visions. It'll use that as a channel to get to the Powers and then it will destroy them!" He was grinning manically, eyes shining. Angel shook him violently.

"Reverse it! You'll kill us all! That sort of power can't be contained in this place! It'll overflow!"

"Yes, so it will," Zariel murmured as though in a dream, "and we will all perish together… only hell will remain." Angel snarled and punched the warlock again, dropping him and leaping up.

"Doyle!"

The seer was shuddering horribly, crying out whenever the dark mist brushed at his body, searching for an opening. If he fell unconscious…

"There's no way you can stop the process now!" Zariel yelled at him, "The game's up. You lose."

"Oh dear, it seems everyone's forgotten about me again."

Both Zariel and Angel's heads snapped around, staring at the newcomer. Kaeden regarded the scene with dark eyes narrowed and burning with malice. Zariel hissed in anger.

"You! Traitor! How dare you come here!"

Kaeden looked over at the old man, quirking an eyebrow as though he had only just noticed him.

"Eh? You're still alive old man? Guess I'll have to do something about that."

The black-haired warlock reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled ball of something. He threw it to Angel who snatched it deftly from the air.

"You might need that. The counter spell that is."

Zariel's eyes widened and he made a choking noise.

"You… how did you get that! Where!"

Kaeden smirked at him. "You don't need to worry about that because you are, if I may put it bluntly, about to get your head blown off."

With that, the two warlocks summoned their power again. Angel struggled to think straight due to the sheer concentration of black magic in the room. A pained gasp from Doyle drew Angel back to reality and the vampire hurriedly dashed out of the way of the impending duel. He moved over to where Cordy still lay senseless and smoothed out the paper. He blinked. The paper was covered in what looked like random splotches of green ink, dotted haphazardly over the surface of the yellowy fibres.

"You have to activate it," Kaeden shouted, "You have to use that black knife to cut yourself and smear some blood across the paper. Then you should be able to understand it."

Angel looked around to see the black knife standing precariously on the pedestal. In one leap he reached the thing and tried to wrench it off the plinth but it held fast. On the dias, Doyle writhed in pain, another cry torn from his throat. Angel looked up desperately. The dark presence around Doyle seemed to be attacking him more and more frequently, brushing against the seer's skin as though desperately seeking an entrance.

"Just cut your hand against it! Hurry! That knife's magical properties should give your blood enough power! Quickly! Before that force becomes any stronger!"

Angel reached up without a second thought, slashing his hand open with the knife. Immediately a horrible numb sensation began to tingle in his hand, his fingers falling as limp and weak as jelly. Grimacing, he put the feeling out of his mind, grabbing his wrist with the other hand and guiding his dripping fingers down to brush a streak of dark crimson against the paper. A vampire's blood was always a very dark shade of red, because it had no oxygen in it. Just as their hearts were dark… because they had no soul…

The paper began to glow, filling the entire chamber with a lurid green light. Angel winced, his entire arm prickling uncomfortably. A simple cut like this shouldn't have bothered him so much… that, he supposed, was this strange knife's power. In any case the black mist that had seemed to be solidifying was now fading. He sat back on his heels with a sigh of relief. They had made it in time.

There are several different sounds that one may expect to hear from one's enemies after thwarting their plan that they have supposedly being constructing meticulously for practically all their lives. Enraged screaming, shouts of denial, hopeless wailing, they would have made Angel feel relatively safe. They were signs that things were going to plan. They were familiar. They would not lead to any more trouble. Complete and utter silence was not one of them.

Angel turned, very slowly to look behind him. Kaeden and Zariel stood, side by side, watching him. Kaeden smiled at him.

"Well done Angel. You did it."

Behind him, Doyle screamed.

You thought I couldn't screw the story line up any more? You were wrong my friends! R&R! I will update, probably soon. No promises though because I don't like breaking promises.